


Departure Songs

by anniesburg



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Bessie Matthews Mentions, Elements of Grief and Mourning, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Honestly I Just Think Hosea's Overlooked Okay, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 03:25:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17820920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniesburg/pseuds/anniesburg
Summary: "It’s a universal fact that gentlemen enjoy exhausting their lovers."





	Departure Songs

**Author's Note:**

> i've been trying to write some shameless smut for my first husband for going on a week. at last, i can rest.

“Lord above, would you at least let me take ‘em off, first?” You say like your hands aren’t already grabbing at his hair. Hosea doesn’t reply, he’s a little busy at the moment. 

You’ve never been one to deny him a thing, meaning that when he sinks to his knees at the sight of you--- well, your legs tend to part. He didn’t answer when you asked just what he intended to do with your drawers still on. 

The answer, you should’ve been able to guess, involves the improper use of the open crotch between your thighs. That clever tongue, unbearably warm even with the chill of winter on spring’s heels touches right where you want it to without any hesitation. 

Part of you knows what he’d say had he any interest in speech. Hosea, gentleman that you know him to be would tell you to enjoy yourself. He’d tell you that the night’s barely begun, plenty of time to get you out of your clothes. 

Your corset feels tighter all of a sudden, the hitch in your breath evidence of both desire and discomfort. But to tell him to stop now would be foolish, and you’re far too selfish.

He’s well aware of how you like it, only waiting on you to vocalize that. You keep your volume respectable for the time being. He hasn’t said a word but you know he’s right, the night’s very young. No need to give Mister Matthews everything all at once. 

It’s not as if he’s going to. His mouth’s where it needs to be, he laps gently at your clit but it’s clearly not about to move any faster. You let out an unladylike growl, pushing your hips forward against his face. Wrong move. 

Hosea’s good with his hands, they pin your thighs well enough. You couldn’t move an inch if you wanted to, but the way he looks at you when he pulls away sees that you certainly don’t. His fingers dig into your linen drawers, you let out a soft gasp. 

“If you mark me up, Hosea---” you start but you’re soon cut off by a kiss when he stands enough to reach your lips. It’s unbearable, the way he tastes. You close your eyes, your arms now around his neck. 

“You’ll thank me,” he says it because he knows it. You’re too proud to blush. “but you can tell yourself otherwise, suits me fine.” 

He’s still got a grip on your thighs, guaranteeing ten, thin fingerprint-bruises across the both of them tomorrow. You can only pretend to be upset, to be scandalized. 

Before you can offer up some teasing retort, he’s kneeling again. But he doesn’t touch between your thighs. His head turns, lips brushing the top of your stocking just below the knee. 

He kisses you, no teeth involved, thank goodness. He’s usually not one to bruise unless it’s asked for or he’s sufficiently pushed. There’s always a stab of guilt somewhere deep in Hosea’s eyes when he sees them, either way. 

Hosea kisses the tops of your thighs, working his way down to your knees and taking his sweet time. You try to ignore the bubbling confusion in your head. He has a way of putting his hands on the things that appear inconsequential but matter most. 

You’re grateful for him, it’s hard to voice it. 

His fingers seek out your garters, pulling at the tight-tied ribbons and setting them aside. He braces his hand under your ankle and removes your stockings with a quiet appreciation. It makes your stomach twist and flutter.

“Thank you,” you say. Hosea nods, he always understands. “Would you help unlace my corset? Can’t do much with it as tight as it is now.” Hosea’s a surprising specimen and never one to turn away a job that requires a special skill. 

He stands, giving you space to do the same you take his arm when he offers it to help you up. 

You turn, showing the back and the lacing that’s pulled taught. It’s enough to force your waist into a narrower shape. Hosea pauses for just a moment, but you needn’t remind him what you’re asking. He knows what he’s doing. 

“I heard from a doctor a couple years back that tightlacing like this ain’t good for you.” He says. For all his casual tone you can tell where the concern creeps in. It’s very sweet. 

“That so? Lots of girls I know swear by it,” you reply with that same false indifference. It seems like everyone’s talking now about the dangers of wearing corsets, but you’d feel just naked without one. 

Still, it seems wrong to reward his caution with unkindness. You’re able to breathe a little better as Hosea undoes the ribbon at the back, pulling it loose without fully undoing it. 

“I’ll talk to Karen about it, she helps me lace up in the mornings.” You sound more sincere by far, undoing the clasps at the front when it’s sufficiently unlaced enough behind. 

And that’s all that’s said on such a strangely serious topic. You’re free of any confines, nearly naked except for your chemise and drawers. Hosea, however, stands before you fully clothed. That won’t do in the least. 

He moves in for another kiss and you give it to him easily. There’s a tendency, you note, for every sensible thought to vacate your head when his lips are on yours. Against his mouth, you smile a little. 

“Mister Matthews,” you sigh when he breaks from you. “I think you’re over-dressed. How very rude.” 

“My apologies, ma’am, you think you could help me out with it? Considering I did the same for you?” You nod with all the enthusiasm a human heart can contain. You take fistfuls of his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders with a different kind of reverence than he shows. 

You love him, of course, with the same intensity. But yours comes in faster, constant reminders and so many smiles. There is no rush, you’ve both made sure of it, but you’ve never hidden your excitement to get your hands on him. Hosea, in his own way, appreciates the way you return his affections. 

That doesn’t mean it’s a sprint. You pause when his jacket is on the floor and ignore his vest. You take his face in your hands, kissing him again in a way he might find familiar. Your mouth moves slowly against his, an illimitable smile still trying to find its place. 

The rise and fall of your chest is slightly erratic as you wilfully forego breathing to be close to him. But even the most wonderful things need buffer periods. You take deep, measured breaths as you pull away in the seconds between the next beautiful experience. 

To be restricted only to traditional displays would stifle your spirit, you’ve mentioned that once or twice. So you kiss the corner of his lips and just under his eye.

“Who broke your nose?” You ask, you kiss there, too. Hosea gives a small shrug. 

“You know, I barely remember.” He says, being truthful at the expense of an entertaining lie.

Your eyes fall to the gleam of metal coming from his vest pocket. That will need seeing to, first.

The silver’s warm, you note when unclipping the end of the chain from the button loop in his vest. Carefully, you pull the watch from his pocket, holding it in your palm just as gently as you did his cheek. 

You know the inscription by heart, could probably read it with your eyes closed and only the pad of your thumb to distinguish the engraved letters. _For my dearest. Your loving Bessie._

He told you once that she would’ve liked you. You gaze fondly at the silver and gears emitting a heartbeat-ticktock. You breeze past Hosea, setting it very carefully on the dresser near the bed. 

Clothes can be washed, ironed out until all the imperfections are gone. Discarding what little he has left of a most beloved wife is the last thing you want. 

Hosea holds his hand out and you’re compelled to return to him. The sinking feeling in your heart lifts with the way he smiles at you. The lines on his face are soothed somewhat, but you know that the pain of memory runs very deep. 

He wraps his arm around you, pulling you to his chest. Hosea kisses the top of your head, you press your lips to his neck. It’s independent retreading of well-adored territory. 

You touch the buttons on his blue vest, undoing them with quick fingers best suited for pickpocketing. Hosea knows to keep his own hands in check, you’ll swat them out of the way even faster. This experience is all yours, he’ll take nothing of it from you. 

His vest joins his jacket. On to his shirt. The buttons are smaller, easier to handle incorrectly but you manage with that same giddiness that pervades every other act. 

At least Hosea’s never had the gall to be anything but proud of what he has. Even when you fingers explore scars, remnants of old knife fights and bullet wounds. He’s lived a long time, seen the wrong end of a gun or a fist. It happens. 

But you try not to overwhelm him with it. He tenses when you over-dote on him, visibly uncomfortable with the shift in roles. He would much rather give than receive, it’s commendable. 

Still, he lets you give up a few minutes to retreading the places you love, the places you hope make him feel a fraction of what he can conjure up in you. Soft, stray kisses to his jaw are amongst his favourites, and the romantic nature of nibbling at his neck is too good to deny. 

He’s quiet through all of it, the only indication that Hosea likes anything you do comes in how tight he holds you. You press one, last, good kiss to his clenched jaw and you know his fingerprints will be on your lower back tomorrow along with the ones on your thighs. 

You tug the hem of his shirt out of his trousers, more insistent with the way you push it off his shoulders. Your fingers meet the skin under his clothes, it’s a familiar indulgence but clearly special to him. 

“How do you want me?” You ask, looking at at him front under your eyelashes. The sultry look’s always a winner, even when he’s seen it used to charm fools out of their cash. He should know better, but he decides that for tonight he doesn’t have to. 

“Any way you’d like, dear,” he replies, there’s a warmth in his eyes that’s palpable. He’s so sweet. 

“No, no, no,” you start but there’s a grin on your face. 

His eyes are filled with so much light. And yet--- no. It’s his soul. His soul is bright, even if he doesn’t notice it. And it shines out his eyes. He looks at you like a man who’s understood that love is what you deserve, he’s committed to giving it to you. 

Bessie might be watching at any given moment, you suppose, if the bible’s right. There’s a pang in your chest that you imagine is a small fraction of what he feels every day. But this isn’t infidelity, you have to be realistic. 

You’re grateful to her for taking such good care of him for so many years. From what he’s told you, if Bessie can feel at all now, she feels the same about you. 

“You call the shots, you tell me how.” You finish. Hosea looks like he wants to kiss you. 

“Take off your drawers,” he says instead. Your heart shudders, skipping a beat. “get on the bed.” 

He lets you go, finishing what you started and carelessly discarding his shirt. You pull at the drawstring at your waist, stepping out of your underclothes. For good measure, you pull your chemise over your head. 

It’s a real bed in a real room this time. Valentine’s not very fancy, but the mattress is comfortable and the windows have drapes. You lie down as you were told, turning on your back and letting your head fall onto the pillows.

“Spread your legs, dear.” Hosea’s naked from the waist up, staring towards you. You draw your knees apart with a teasing hesitation. “I’m not done tasting you yet.” 

“Oh,” your eyes widen and the look of surprise on your face gives way to a smile. “naughty.” 

“Only for you,” he’s quick to remind. Hosea kneels on the end of the bed, settling between your thighs. 

“Don’t tease me,” you begin, but he makes it clear that since you said it he intends to. 

His lips are warm against your knee, taking his time lavishing attention. Hosea kisses towards your upper thigh, pausing every now and again until you whine for him to move on. 

You reach for him, your fingers brushing his shoulders and neck. He smiles at you, his eyes crinkling around the edges. But he doesn’t let you pull him anywhere he has not decided to be. For his age and his condition, he’s stronger than anyone could guess. 

He dips his head, kissing your inner thighs with a fervour. He doesn’t bite, only uses his teeth very gently on your sensitive skin. 

“Hosea, please,” speaking his name is close to magic. He hums to tell you he’s heard you. One more kiss, he says without needing to say it. It’s almost truthful, he takes two in quick succession and then proceeds to give you what you’re whining for. 

He’s tentative as before, holding your legs open in anticipation of you trying to close them. Hosea knows you too well, knows that the first hints of a sensation are oftentimes quite overwhelming. He says nothing, wordlessly following a pattern that you find so satisfying. 

You keep your hold on him, gripping at his hair and neck as his tongue darts out to touch your folds. He’s precise, alternating between quick strokes and broad licks. You press your head back into the pillow, enough to make your neck hurt. 

Hosea gets an earful of your enthusiasm, something he finds more than just attractive. He’s the silent type, but the way you let every whim and word be known to him is nothing short of endearing. You breathe his name with so much love and he’s proud that he can make you feel this way. 

One hand leaves your leg, he’s relatively sure you won’t try to move without his consent to do so. His fingers are long and incredibly deft, he presses and curls them in you with a practiced ease. You’re struggling to keep yourself spread. 

He doesn’t stop, not when you tug at his hair and scream his name because you like the sound of it. He fingers you through a surprising orgasm, committed to his technique. But the thought of the hotel owner and every patron in the saloon across the street knowing what he’s just done brings a smile to his face.

“That was---” you cut yourself off with a content hum as his smile proves infectious. Hosea lifts his head, looking at you over your stomach. Your hand in his hair falls to his cheek. “thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me yet,” he says. He puts two fingers to his lips, the ones previously inside you and he makes sure they’re clean. 

“You’re going to have to go easy on me,” you sigh. The way he looks at you makes your face feel hot. He knows how to get you blushing, could make a career out of it. You do sound tired, perhaps that’s the reason for his adjustment in tone. 

“I’ve never gone easy on you before.” He says, but you can tell he’s aware of the caliber of the lie he’s telling. 

“Just---” you cut yourself off, watching as he unbuttons the front of his trousers. “be gentle.” Like you have to tell him that. 

Hosea frees himself, leaning forward and bracing an arm next to your head. You lift your shoulders and meet him halfway when he moves to kiss you. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, your grip tight and insisted on pulling him further down. Hosea seems to realize what you’re doing but doesn’t stand his ground. Your legs wrap around his waist and he lets you guide him onto his side. 

It’s better in the long run this way, you know how he likes it. You steal one more kiss before untangling your legs from his, turning over and pressing your back against his chest. 

“All right, I’m ready,” you say. Hosea’s fingers curl under your thigh and very carefully lift it.

“You have the advantages of youth, my dear,” he tells you. You smile breathlessly.

“Well, you have the advantages of--- oh---” you feel his cock nudge at you mid-sentence. Your train of thought is lost and then regained. “of being an ardent lover, no matter your age.” 

He inches his way into you, the whole affair very slow considering your sensitive state. Hosea makes no sound, nothing at all. But when he’s pressed into you completely, you swear you hear a shaking sigh right next to your ear. 

And you can certainly feel his heart, beating steadily but perhaps more quickly than usual. 

He draws his hips back, pushes them forward again with that same gentleness. It’s typical of him, drawing out the initial moments and making your toes curl with pleasure.

You needn’t move a muscle nor remind him of what else you need. He supports your thigh with his forearm, his hand inching forward. Hosea’s fingers tease your clit, feather-light strokes that match the way he eases in and out of you. 

He seems less concerned with making you speak in tongues. Hosea lets you recover while chasing his own pleasure, pressing kisses to your back and shoulder. 

“More. Oh, please,” you sigh when you want it. He indulges you as he eventually always does. His hips move faster, not hard enough to hurt or leave marks but enough to make you feel markedly less tired. You hum, mumbling something encouraging that could loosely be considered English. 

You find yourself reaching back, desperate to grab onto something solid. Your fingers grip his still-clothed hip and you refute your secret desire to lie there until he makes you come a second time. You work your rear back against his hips. 

His breath catches every now and then, especially when you bear down around his cock and push back with a little more force. But you’re freer as usual, moaning when it feels good albeit with less glass-shattering intensity. 

“Are you close?” You ask him, partially out of breath. He nods, pressing his finger more firmly against your clit. “You don’t have to worry about me---” you start but Hosea will hear absolutely none of it. 

“Nonsense,” he insists, although you can hear the waver in his voice. Your eyes fall closed. The wave of heat that washes over you after a minute more of his persistence is less intense than the first but still exceptionally nice. 

Hosea’s not far after you, and you privately acknowledge that to be a good thing. It’s a universal fact that gentlemen enjoy exhausting their lovers. You’re feeling a bit sore and a bit strung-out, throughly ready to spend the rest of the night in his embrace. 

He comes on your thighs and you’re turning to face him after a only a few seconds. Looking at him basking in the afterglow is one of life’s great pleasures. He folds himself around you, a comforting presence at your front to get lost in.


End file.
